


Bitter heart stew

by Miraphina Atherton (mew_tsubaki)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 23:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20072053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki/pseuds/Miraphina%20Atherton
Summary: Victoire, Lysander, and a chat about a girl.





	Bitter heart stew

**Author's Note:**

> The Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. Read, review, and enjoy!

Victoire's face tightened as her fake smile turned into a smirk and then became a scowl—but Lysander didn't notice. Probably because he was a bloke.

"Then Medea placed the laurel leaf in the cauldron—and the whole class and Slughorn was utterly stunned. Slughorn said that he'd never even seen such promise from Snape himself, you know."

"I do know," the eldest daughter of Bill and Fleur Weasley replied. She sipped her warmed butterbeer to choke back the venomous comment she had for Medea. Ohh, warm butterbeer. It helped fight off the onset of the early winter chills, too.

Lysander nodded and munched on a snap dragon biscuit. "Medea Palavanius—it just sounds like the name of a great Potioneer, you know?"

"I _know_," Victoire said, a little less politely this time. She cupped her cheek in her palm as she leaned on the table. Lysander sat across from her, happily chowing down on his snack without a care in the world…while Victoire felt a little empty inside, the only hunger she possessed being the desire to chow down on her heart. It was only a hunk of meat, anyway.

It was better when it was quiet between them—at least, nowadays it was. Victoire watched as his fair eyelashes flitted carefully as his blue eyes roved over the table. She missed this. She missed _him_. It'd been what, a year? Almost a year, but still. Starting life after Hogwarts wasn't easy, and she hated that her job had kept her from her friends. Lysander, Roxanne, Dominique—they were all still in school. And where was Victoire? Not in school. No, she'd snatched up Madam Malkin's apprenticeship, and it felt as though all of her free time had Vanished before her nose. She missed hanging out with her friends and talking with them, especially Roxanne and Lysander, though she'd briefly seen Roxanne just the other day. But, really, Victoire had been itching for this little stop by Hogsmeade, because she knew she could see Lysander here. And, even if he was blathering about that awful Medea Palavanius, he was still Lysander. Sander. Her Sander.

Er, somewhat.

He suddenly stuck a biscuit under her nose. "Hey, c'mon, eat."

She blinked and waved it away. "No, it's fine, Sander."

He raised one blond eyebrow. "Vic, eat something. You can't just sip butterbeer the whole evening."

"Yes, I can," the witch replied, and she took another swig as she tried to hide her blush. It was a nice thought that Lysander believed they could while the night away when in reality he'd have to return to the castle soon and she to her job. It almost felt like old times that way.

He shrugged it off for a moment, but, when her stomach growled, he gave her a look. His face definitely asked, _And you were saying?_

She relented and took one biscuit, but, hey, as long as his attention was focused on her and not on Medea Palavanius…then it was fine.

"So, as I was saying, I'm just surprised that Medea returned to Hogwarts."

Victoire internally groaned. For crying out loud, why couldn't Lysander just shut up about her already? Medea Palavanius wasn't anything special. So she was smart, big deal; Victoire had been a Ravenclaw, too. Medea wasn't as shapely or as pretty as Victoire, either; whereas Victoire plucked her eyebrows, Medea had let hers grow a mind of their own, and at least Victoire tried to do something about any outbreaks on her face—Medea's looked like something out of Hagrid's oven. … Okay. So maybe she was a bit biased. But Medea wasn't anything special, and that was that. Yet, for some reason, she and Lysander had hit it off two years ago as friends, and that "friendship" had survived Medea leaving Hogwarts for Beauxbatons only to return to Hogwarts. Much to Victoire's chagrin.

"And, actually…"

"Oh, revered Rowena, please don't say it."

"Say what?"

Victoire didn't even bother hiding her sigh. "That you still have a thing for her."

Lysander's face pinked slightly at his friend's blunt words. "Well…"

"Sander, she's…she's not good for you. She's had how many boyfriends already?" Victoire could only say this because he, Dominique, and Roxanne knew the truth. Victoire wasn't the heartbreaker everyone seemed to think she was. She'd only had a couple of boyfriends, Teddy included. On the other hand, Medea Palavanius had had at least seven…by the end of her second year.

"Everyone's telling me that—you, Dom, Roxie, my roommates, the rest of the school. Well, the girls, really, but it's all the same."

The strawberry blonde's heart panged. "Oh, really."

"It's the same warning I'm even hearing from my parents."

Victoire puffed out her cheeks and dropped her gaze to her butterbeer. "When are you going to realize that I'm not like the rest?" She hadn't meant to think it aloud, but now that it was said…

"I know you're not like the rest. You're special to me."

Oh, sweet Merlin. Don't do this now. Lysander could _not_ be telling her such a thing that she knew she could misconstrue, and he—he frankly wouldn't get it. "Oh."

"Of course," Lysander assured her. "But it would be nice if I didn't hear that entire spiel yet again."

Victoire bit her lip. Well, time to find some Gryffindor courage buried beneath her cool Ravenclaw intellect, yes? She took a breath and sat up, but she couldn't look him in the eye. "If…she means this much to you…then I can't say no."

"No, Vic, you're allowed to have your own opinion." Lysander's expression told her he meant it. "We can simply agree to disagree."

That only made her more resolute. "No, no, you're right, Sander. I should support you."

"I don't want there to be any animosity between us over this, Vic. I know you don't like her."

"But I love you and want you to have my support even if you have no one else's. I want you to understand that I'm right there with you. If you like her…then I like her."

Lysander studied her carefully for a moment before smiling, and she could hear the smile reach his voice, too. "Thank you, Victoire."

"Hey, it's only because I love you."

"And I love you, too."

Victoire gritted her teeth. How many times would she hear these words? Sure, at the start of their friendship, Lysander hadn't been one for hugs and "love yous;" he was a bloke. But now Victoire wished he hadn't grown so comfortable with her. The last thing she wanted to hear was "I love you" when it wasn't said with the love she yearned for so badly. "Uh…yeah."

"Vic—what's wrong? Your voice changed. It…" He pulled a face as though some creature he was studying had done something gross. "It got all droopy. Down."

"What? No, it's fine, I'm fine," she quipped quickly. Go figure that he was so attuned with her that he could not only pick up on her subtle changes—he was not afraid to call her out on them, either.

"Victoire, tell me. I don't like it when things are left bad or awkward between us." He leaned forward in his seat, almost as though he were going to reach across and take her hand in his. Alas, that would never happen; as much as he had opened up over the years, Lysander doubtful would ever be that intimate with another person.

_Though he might make an exception for Medea,_ a nasty voice taunted in Victoire's head. She shook the thought away. "No, it's…it's nothing."

"Are you sure? Because I'm here if you want to talk."

Could she smack him now, please? He had no idea of the things she wanted to say! "You don't want to hear what I have to say," she said truthfully.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You don't feel like telling me? Or I really don't want to hear it?"

"Um…both." But inside she screamed, ready to say those three little words she was dying to tell him…ready to take out that hunk of meat in the center of her chest and devour it. Because maybe, if she devoured it, she'd feel full, she wouldn't feel so empty inside anymore.

"Are you sure?"

Three little words that could make them or break her, and three little words that taunted her so. But Victoire shook her head. "Nah, it's fine." She faked glancing at her watch—a watch that was lying at home broken, but she moved too fast for Lysander to see that her wrist was bare—and stood. "Well, I should get back to the store, and you're probably busy with schoolwork."

Lysander said nothing but stood, as well. He left money on the table and stood in front of Victoire. "Hey, you know I love you, Vic—platonically," he added after a second in which he must've finally realized how he sounded. But he opened his arms, for the first time being the one to initiate an embrace.

Victoire appraised him and then dove into his chest for the hug, but it was more so he didn't see her face crumble. Good Merlin, he couldn't see smart, strong, beautiful Victoire crumble. If _she_ crumbled, then what would that say about their foursome—Victoire, Lysander, Dominique, and Roxanne? "I'll see you around, Sander."

"We should meet up again soon, Vic," the Scamander son said as his hands shook away their awkwardness and rubbed circles on her back.

Victoire backed away from him without another glance at his face—it was too painful—and headed out of the Three Broomsticks. She was happy for once that she wore only a thin sweater, because the biting cold served her well to frost over her already hardening ice-cold heart. But her heart would never be cold, would never be numb enough not to be affected by Lysander's warmth. And when he was happy, he was so warm, so scalding hot that Victoire could feel her heart melting, and she wondered if it ever would melt fully. Then again, as long as Medea Palavanius was a thought on his young mind… The Weasley shook her head.

Because when you're in love with someone, you're happy when they're happy, even if it kills you inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, more unrequited Vicsander from me, heavy on the angst. -.- As for the OC Medea Palavanius—should Victoire hex her, kill her, or win Sander from her? Ahaha…yeah, right. Victoire supports Lysander no matter what, because…well, you read the last line. :'( Anyone wanna join me in a cry for Vic? Dx
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please review.
> 
> -mew-tsubaki :S
> 
> 2017 note: Godric. This fic makes me wanna punch something. Lysander said everything he fucking shouldn't've. *sighs* Anyway, this old thing actually inspired a pal, SkyeElf, to write two sequels to my story, and I strongly suggest you give 'em a read: "[Sour Heart Stew](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7599461/1/Sour-Heart-Stew)" and "[Sweet Heart Stew](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7693356/1/Sweet-Heart-Stew)."


End file.
